


A Proper Snack

by EatYourSparkOut



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: ...sort of, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enthusiastic Consent, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Predator/Prey, Self-Esteem Issues, So much kissing, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sparkeater!Perceptor, Tentacles, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EatYourSparkOut/pseuds/EatYourSparkOut
Summary: Perceptor thinks that his transformation has rendered him unappealing. Brainstorm is more than happy to prove him wrong—with a dinner date.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, I haven't really been keeping up too closely with Lost Light. That being said, the revelation of sparkeater!Percy had me feeling some kinda way, and I ended up writing most of this in one night—before we even got issue #19. Regardless of how things actually get resolved (they're looking up!), I wanted to give Brainstorm the monster boyfriend he deserves, so... here we are. 
> 
> This fic is a little bit canon-divergent, and operates on the assumption that:
> 
> a) Perceptor and Brainstorm were in an established relationship pre-mutiny, and
> 
> b) (SPOILER) the ship has been retaken, but Sparkeater cure hasn't yet been discovered. Perceptor is only 'fixed' in the sense that he's been fed, and not feral. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

For Brainstorm, walking into the lab was a therapeutic experience. 

The acrid smell which clung to its foundations, and the gleam of half-finished projects at his bench never failed to shake loose any tension he was carrying in his wings. The lab was a place for retreat—somewhere he could still the restless clattering of his processor by indulging in whatever exciting project had most recently snagged his attention. More importantly, it was for _science_ —somewhere he could bring his genius to life. 

Quite frankly, there was no place he’d rather be. 

The lab was also a good place to escape to when he wanted some alone time. People didn’t usually bother Brainstorm here in his element—not unless they needed something badly enough to risk getting caught up in his latest scheme. Occasionally, he might get a visit from one of his few, real friends, but most of the time he appreciated the chance to work interrupted—processor and servos working in sync to unleash his _brilliance_ on the world. 

The mech currently standing at their workstation was an exception to the rule, but as far as Brainstorm was concerned Perceptor _was_ part of the lab—just as familiar and welcome as the rest of it. Funny how that’d happened. 

The tentacles which floated around the scientist in a mechanical corona were less familiar, but Brainstorm was getting used to them. Truth be told he kind of _liked_ them—not for the reminder of how close he’d come to losing Perceptor, but definitely for their untapped potential. He could think of a couple of other uses for them beyond the practicality with which Perceptor currently wielded them. 

Then again, that would require convincing Perceptor to actually _touch_ him—something Brainstorm had been having trouble with lately. 

At the moment, Perceptor was turned away from him, and utilizing his new appendages to their full extent. The tentacles effortlessly manipulated the components of his current project, leaving his servos free to take notes. Learning to coordinating so many limbs at once wouldn't have been easy for a bot used to two, but Perceptor had gotten the hang of it astonishingly quick. Brainstorm was impressed. 

He noted with some disgruntlement that the tentacles faltered when Perceptor noticed his presence, and that when they resumed their course the smooth motions had become marred by intermittent jerks. The displeasure grew when he received no acknowledgment beyond a brusque ‘Hello, Brainstorm’. 

It further confirmed what he had suspected for a while; Perceptor was uncomfortable around him.

Were they still dating, or what? Because truth be told, Brainstorm was starting to get a little fed up with the silent treatment. This wasn’t the vibe he wanted in his— _their_ —lab. 

Brainstorm crossed his arms, and began tapping his pede pointedly. He punctuated the motion with a loud and deliberate clear of his vocalizer. 

Slowly, the tentacles drifted back to the bench and released their charges. Perceptor set aside the stylus he’d been using, and there was a small prickle of guilt in his field as he turned to face him . 

_Good_. Served him right for being such a crankshaft. 

“Hello, Brainstorm,” Perceptor said again, somewhat apologetically. Still, he kept his gaze partially averted, as though he didn’t quite want to meet his optic. 

Brainstorm snorted. Well, at least he was being _acknowledged_ now. He tried to shove down the insecurity which had been rearing its helm more frequently the past couple of weeks, ever since Perceptor’s ‘recovery’. 

Honestly, he thought they’d gotten past this whole ‘absolute dolts at communication’ thing after the Getaway fiasco. Perceptor would have told him if there was something _really_ wrong, right? If he was getting tired of this? Them? 

“Hey,” Brainstorm muttered in return, as he made his way closer. He’d set aside his mask as he entered the lab, and now he leaned in for a kiss—in part to assuage his own anxieties, but mostly to test a theory. 

Perceptor didn’t try to avoid him, but the way he tensed as Brainstorm drew close was almost tangible. Upon landing his trajectory, he found himself kissing a statue. 

A decacycle ago, Perceptor would have returned the gesture automatically. Now, he simply seemed to be waiting for Brainstorm to be finished. 

Brainstorm’s spark sank. He pulled away, trying to disguise the hurt in his field, but the accusation came bubbling out before he could cap a lid on it.

“Why won’t you kiss me?”

Perceptor’s mouth fell open, and the hint of guilt that Brainstorm had sensed earlier spiked abruptly.

“What?” he finally asked, nearly stumbling over the word.

“Why won’t—” and here he tapped accusingly against Perceptor’s chestplate “—You. Kiss me. I’m not an idiot; I can tell something’s off.”

“I do kiss you. I just did,” protested Perceptor, the corners of his mouth turned downwards in the slightest of frowns. Still, the objection was weak, as though he didn’t quite believe it himself.  
Brainstorm scoffed. 

“Yeah, _technically_. But not _really_ ,” he accused. “You let me get, maybe a little _peck_ in, and then you act like I’ve got space mites!”

Perceptor’s tentacles had wilted behind him. It was incredible, really, how expressive they were; they often gave away what the stoic scientist wouldn’t via his face or field. Perceptor himself was standing uncomfortably stiff, tension evident in the way he'd locked his struts.

Perceptor finally dragged his helm to meet Brainstorm’s gaze. His transformation had left them a sickly yellow, and so far they'd shown no signs of changing back. They caught the light in a manner that was equally unsettling and captivating.

Still, he didn’t say anything. 

Primus, this was useless. Perceptor wasn’t exactly a mech _in-tune_ with his feelings—Brainstorm had known that from the beginning—but they’d been doing really great there for a while. He’d been opening up a little even _before_ they’d tumbled into berth—laughing and casting warm glances Brainstorm’s way as they bantered in the lab. Now it was like they’d stumbled all the way back to the beginning—back to the days when Perceptor had barely interacted with him willingly. 

Only this time with one hundred times the apparent guilt. So what _gave_? 

“Seriously,” he said. “I dunno how much more of this mixed-signal scrap I can take. Just... tell me.”

“It’s nothing,” insisted Perceptor, but the placating tone only rankled. 

“ _Bullshit_. Give it to me straight—what’d I do? Are we…” He swallowed hard—better to ask and get it over with. Otherwise the dread would keep building, until it bubbled over like a beaker left unattended on the burner. “Are we done? Is that it?” he asked. 

The demand finally shook a reaction from Perceptor, who flinched minutely even as he blurted out a seemingly appalled ‘no’. 

The immediacy of the reply was reassuring, at least. Brainstorm could count on one servo the number of times he’d seen Perceptor react so outwardly. 

“No,” Perceptor repeated, “and I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” His tentacles curled behind him in frustration. “It’s nothing that you’ve done. I have no desire to terminate our relationship. I simply…” he trailed off. 

“You what?” prompted Brainstorm. 

He still wasn’t convinced, but hearing it directly from Perceptor was a step in the right direction. The other scientist was a lot of things—stubborn, emotionally dense—but he wasn’t a liar. 

Perceptor shook his helm almost imperceptibly. 

“Why do you _want_ to kiss me?” he asked, in lieu of answering the question. 

Now, it was Brainstorm’s turn to gape. 

“Why _wouldn’t_ I?” he demanded. 

Perceptor turned those wonderful, enigmatic optics away again, and Brainstorm mourned their loss.

Perceptor sighed, long and weary. 

“You needn’t pretend for my sake. I was nothing much to look at before, but now I’m hardly any mech’s dream,” he explained, as though it were obvious. 

Brainstorm’s fans sputtered. This time, the arrow which lodged itself in his spark had nothing to do with fear of rejection. Oh, _Percy_. In all his calculations—all his run-throughs of how this conversation might go—this hadn’t even made the list of possibilities. Perceptor carried himself with such a cool and unflappable poise, that the very idea of self-consciousness applied to him seemed alien and wrong. Then again, Brainstorm knew enough about fabricating confidence, until you even believed it yourself. 

That's _also_ bullshit,” he hissed, angry at—something. The world, he supposed, a world in which Perceptor could even _consider_ that Brainstorm was repulsed by him, and only faking affection to make him feel better.

Perceptor didn’t respond. His tentacles had drawn in close to his frame, and he stared impassively at the wall opposite them. 

“You were always a looker, Percy, don’t try and deny it,” Brainstorm teased, a little softer. He lifted a servo to trace the sharpened angles of his faceplate, the jagged edges of his helm. He lingered on the scars which split the previously unmarred expanse of his derma. “Now you’re just a little more rugged. _I_ think it’s pretty hot.”

Perceptor reached up to cover Brainstorm’s servo with his own, before gently pulling it from his faceplate.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I hardly think one could consider this attractive.”

 _Oh, you’d be surprised_ , Brainstorm thought, though didn’t say aloud. He felt a sharp stab of guilt as he was reminded that, in a way, this was his fault—that leaving behind the Gun was what had caused all this mess in the first place. 

“I mean it,” he insisted. And then, for good measure, he pulled Perceptor into another kiss. 

This time, Brainstorm didn’t let the lack of immediate response stop him. He molded his derma to Perceptor’s, and let the tip of his glossa venture out to trace the seam. He brushed gently against the branching scars—lightning captured on protoflesh—and the taste of raw metal was sharp and electric. 

Perceptor caved with a vent of hot air. Brainstorm angled his helm to better appreciate the access he’d been granted, and after another moment, Perceptor was kissing him back. His enthusiasm was still subdued, but it was _something_. 

Brainstorm focused his efforts on impressing upon Perceptor how much he _enjoyed_ this. He left his field bare, stark in its admiration. He didn’t shutter his optics, but met Perceptor’s gaze dimly—urging him to see for himself that he wasn’t turned off in the slightest by his new appearance.

In fact, if he was being honest with himself, it was maybe a bit of the opposite. Fangs grazed lightly against his derma as Perceptor gave another inch—deepening the kiss of his own volition, and reaching out to draw Brainstorm closer. It caused a thrill to dance up his spinal strut, which culminated in a small shiver that Perceptor couldn’t _possibly_ have missed. A warmth was blossoming deep in his chassis, equal parts relief and appreciation.

Eventually, they pulled apart—fans struggling to regulate their temperature in the face of a growing fervor. 

Perceptor looked dazed. But there was also a glint to his optics that gave Brainstorm pause, and the barest hint of concern stirred within him. 

As if on cue, Perceptor sucked in a sharp vent. He shook his helm and stepped briskly away from Brainstorm’s grasp. 

“I’m afraid that isn’t my only, or even main, concern,” he said, subdued once more.

A different kind of thrill tapped at Brainstorm’s spark. Pieces had begun to fall into place, and the resulting picture was… complicated. 

“This hunger—it alarms me,” confessed Perceptor. He seemed ashamed to admit it. “If I were to injure you somehow…” He shook his helm firmly. “The mere _possibility_ of such an occurrence is unacceptable.”

Brainstorm could understand Perceptor’s hesitation. He figured living with the constant urge to crack open sparkcases and scarf down their contents would put off any reasonable mech. He couldn’t help but find a glimmer of humor in the situation, however. 

“Are you saying I'm too much of a snack to make out with?” he asked cheekily.

Perceptor only stared at him in response, and Brainstorm muffled his snicker. 

“That was terrible,” Perceptor finally managed, but Brainstorm could _see_ the way the corners of his mouth threatened to curl upwards.

“Uh, I'm pretty sure it’s pronounced terr _ific_ ,” Brainstorm corrected, and hiding his own grin was all but useless at this point. Evidently it was infectious, because Perceptor’s derma curled that much more in response. After a moment, however, he fell somber again.

“You’re not as tempting as the others,” he admitted slowly. “There’s something different—something _off_ —about your spark which helps to circumvent the cravings. I’d be interested to know exactly what, so that we might try to replicate it. Regardless, we spend so much time in close contact that I can’t help but…”

“But what?” prompted Brainstorm again, when Perceptor paused in consternation. 

“Imagine,” he finished. He looked tired. Perceptor had always prided himself on his composure; this was probably affecting him even more than he was letting on. “My awareness of it is faint, and odd, and it's not entirely appetizing, but its still _there_ Brainstorm. As is the danger.”

“So the others are—what? Five star meals, and I’m junk food?” asked Brainstorm, his wings rising high in mock offense. “Are you telling me I should I start cutting back on the oil cakes?”

“This isn’t a joking matter,” Perceptor admonished, but the rebuke seemed more habit than anything—as though he were too weary to debate—and that was just _wrong_. 

Perceptor made as if to pull away, but Brainstorm tightened his grip on his shoulder, and he didn’t fight him. 

“I’m concerned for your safety,” Perceptor stated simply, as though that would make Brainstorm let go. 

Brainstorm leaned in and rested his helm against Perceptor’s with a small ‘bonk’. 

“For a genius, you sure can be pretty dense,” he said. He softened the words by planting a brief kiss on the bridge of Perceptor’s nose.

Perceptor frowned. 

“We’re in this together,” Brainstorm reminded him. “We’ll figure it out. If the two smartest bots in existence can’t fix a little _dietary imbalance_ then I don’t know how all these other suckers manage to function on a daily basis,” Brainstorm ribbed. “So, what is it? The substitute not doing it for you?”

After the crew had contained the sparkeaters, and wrestled the ship back from Getaway—after what felt like a very personal nightmare had finally _ended_ —Brainstorm had thrown himself into finding a solution.

In the beginning, he’d siphoned off some of his own spark energy to feed Perceptor— and actually, the feral mech’s initial reluctance to accept the offerings made more sense now that he’d been informed his spark was the equivalent of... fueling-station sludge crumbles or something. 

Eventually, Perceptor had grown hungry enough to concede, and bit by bit the ravenous glow had faded from his optics. A few more solar cycles, and he’d been coherent again—though understandably horrified at the condition he found himself in.

Ratchet had been furious when he’d discovered Brainstorm passed out on the floor of his lab as a result of the siphoning. He’d been dizzy for cycles, and Ratchet’s near-deadly insistence that he not do it again had only further spurred his efforts to find a better fix. 

So he'd done what he did best— _experiment_. Turned out that synthesizing something close to spark energy had been a piece of cake—who woulda thunk? 

The substance his machine produced wasn’t akin to a _real_ spark—it wasn't _life_ —but it was evidently close enough to satisfy a hungry sparkeater. And enough to make First Aid almost swoon with delight at the potential medical applications.

He guessed it made sense. The sparkeaters were ~~his fault~~ artificial anyway; there was nothing to say they couldn't be fed by equally artificial means. All of his trials had indicated that it was the energy which sparks gave off that sparkeaters needed to bolster their own, dim cores—not the structure itself. Consuming the entire thing in one go was the easiest way to acquire that, but the specialized vents in their cheeks were equally capable of siphoning and absorbing said energy from another source.

He’d _thought_ it’d been working. The synthesized stuff been enough to feed and free the affected crew—even if they were still being carefully monitored with tracking bracelets and watchful optics. And Percy’d never indicated otherwise. 

Brainstorm had since moved on to improving the formula—and to finding a _cure_ —and Perceptor had been equally proactive in assisting. Now it appeared that he _hadn’t_ been as successful as he’d thought, if Perceptor was feeling like... this. 

He gazed searchingly into the molten amber of Perceptor’s optics, their vents mingling. Brainstorm would have closed the gap between their mouths again, if he weren’t so desperate for an answer—something he could _work_ with. Primus knew this had been weird for all of them. 

“It helps,” murmured Perceptor. “Obviously, it helps. It certainly fulfills my energy requirements, and there isn’t the same incessant ache_ beneath my plating. It simply doesn’t assist with…” 

It was bizarre to see Perceptor at a loss for words so many times in one night. And probably frustrating beyond belief for the other scientist, who was usually so eloquent. 

“It’s psychological,” he stated simply. “I will learn to manage.”

“It’s _physiological_ ,” corrected Brainstorm. “Like you said, the substitute is satisfying your energy requirements, but not the cravings. It’s like giving someone who hasn’t had a proper meal in ages another field ration. Does the job, but it’s torture when all you want is a chrome-alloy protopie.” Shout out to the New Institute.

Brainstorm was already wracking his processor for a solution; the food issue had been simple enough, but dealing with unsatisfied instinct was another beast entirely. Perceptor’s frame wasn’t hungry, and yet, on a deeper level, he was starving. 

He sent himself a memo to check up on the others later. 

There was _one_ obvious solution.

“What if _I_ was on the menu?” he asked.

Perceptor jerked back, and the motion caught Brainstorm so off-guard that he broke easily from his grip. 

“Absolutely not,” said Perceptor, clearly aghast. “Why you would even _suggest_ such a thing is beyond me. It’s—it’s irresponsible, it’s unsafe—” 

Oh Primus, time to stop him before he really got going. 

“Have you met me?” Brainstorm interrupted. “We’re dating, right? You realize who you’re dating?” 

He snorted. 

“Geez, Perce. I’m not asking you to rip my spark out,” he soothed.

 _You could do that plenty of other ways_ , his processor provided unhelpfully, and Brainstorm shoved the stray thought back into the blackness where it belonged.

His reassurance hadn’t done much. Perceptor was still looking at him like _he_ was the one sprouting new appendages.

“Just a little nibble? Pretend I’m an anti-freeze pop,” Brainstorm suggested half-jokingly. He tried not to shudder at the idea of Perceptor licking at his spark like an energon treat. 

Honestly, this plan was sounding better by the nano-klik. 

“No,” Perceptor refused. “I’m fully capable of overcoming this.” 

“Well, _yeah_. Of course you are,” said Brainstorm. In his experience, Perceptor was capable of pretty much anything when he put his mind to it. “But that doesn’t mean you _have_ to—not on your own, at least.” 

When would Perceptor understand that Brainstorm would do pretty much anything to fix this? When would he _trust_ him?

Perceptor’s field was a dark, thorny mess—overcome with conflict and the stirrings of a need that ran so deep Brainstorm almost felt it in _his_ spark. This time, as Brainstorm stepped forward to recapture Perceptor’s helm in his servos, he didn’t resist the urge to guide him into another kiss. 

He didn’t bother with a gentle approach. Instead, he pushed Perceptor back up against the table and poured every bit of insistence into his field that he could manage. _Listen to me, you beautiful idiot_. 

Perceptor’s engine sputtered, and when he reciprocated, those wonderful fangs of his caught against Brainstorm’s derma. The pressure lessened abruptly—Perceptor no doubt tasting the hint of energon that had welled up with the scratch—but Brainstorm chased after them with his glossa, tracing the sharp points, and relishing the _ideas_ which flitted across his processor. 

Perceptor tilted his helm to deepen the kiss, and Brainstorm’s world spun. 

He broke away reluctantly. They were left with scorching plating, and ragged vents, and the hungry gleam he had witnessed earlier in Perceptor’s optic was more obvious than ever. Perceptor’s field practically trembled with the force of his restraint. 

All he did though, was place a lingering kiss on Brainstorm’s nasal ridge, returning the gesture from earlier. 

“It’s not safe,” he muttered. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t accept it in good conscience. I shouldn’t _need_ to resort to such methods.” 

Brainstorm wanted to shake him—ask how one mech could be so impossibly, endearingly, infuriating. Instead, he dialed it up a notch.

“I mean, could anyone really blame you for wanting a piece of this?” he asked, with an exaggerated wink and nudge. 

“Brainstorm, I—no. I simply can't risk it.”

All things considered, Perceptor wasn't protesting very hard. There was a hesitance to his answers that gave Brainstorm the impression that he _wanted_ to be convinced. 

“What if I could guarantee it so you wouldn't be able to hurt me?” he wheedled.

Perceptor frowned.

“And exactly how would you ensure that?” he asked. “If you hadn't noticed, my unwitting transformation has given me a distinct advantage over most Cybertronians. I highly doubt that you could fight me off if something were to go wrong.”

Brainstorm wiggled his winglets. That was an easy workaround for someone as brilliant as him—who did Percy think he was? Highbrow? 

He'd have a solution whipped up in no time. And then he'd be free to get back to that gravitational yo-yo gun. Or maybe the Acrimony Apparatus. With a crew like this, what _better_ option was there for a backup generator than one powered by insults. It’d practically pay for itself. 

“Cmon, have a little _faith_ here, Perce,” Brainstorm crowed. “Where’s your sense of creativity?”

It was a testament to Perceptors desperation that he only eyed him cautiously.

“I suppose I could… consider it,” he relented. 

Brainstorm clapped his hands together, and his enthusiasm broadcasted like the crack of a hyper-canon across the room.

“ _Great_. Meet me at the start of the night shift. My quarters. I hope you're ready to have your _mind blown_.” His derma curled slightly. “And y’know, maybe a couple of other things.”

Perceptor stared at him for a long moment, as though he were trying to discern Brainstorm’s motivations, then nodded tersely. 

“We will proceed _only_ if I deem your precautionary methods adequate,” he reminded him, but the reluctance had faded—as though he were having to remind himself of that fact also.

Brainstorm reached out and cupped Perceptors face, and now that he wasn't distracted by the urge to fuse their faces together, the chill of it seeped into him. He was undeterred, and caressed the marred metal of his cheek with his thumb. Perceptors optics dimmed.

“‘Course.”

Brainstorms processor was already whirring with half-formulated plans. When he pulled back, however, he didn't like the melancholy that lingered in Perceptor’s field, and he made an effort to distract him.

“So, what _I’m_ taking away from this is that some sparks are fancy highgrade, and some of us lucky guys are the equivalent of... unfiltered nightmare fuel.” he mused.

“I rather think that _I’m_ the nightmare fuel,” remarked Perceptor sardonically. 

Brainstorm coughed out a laugh. That’d been a _joke_. A self-deprecating one, but still. 

He wouldn’t be deterred from his line of questioning, however.

“So, who’s the tastiest bot on the Lost Light?

Perceptor’s silence was deafening. 

“It’s Magnus, isn’t it? 

"..."

"Please tell me it’s Magnus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll be getting to the main course soon~
> 
> And of course, a big thank you to my wonderful friends for their suggestions and edits. You know who you are <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back with the second chapter~
> 
> (SPOILERS?) 
> 
> Honestly, I'm so relieved with how the comic worked out. It means I can enjoy this monster AU wholeheartedly >:3c

The ping at his door came precisely at the start of the cycle. That was Perceptor; punctual to a tee.

Brainstorm—who’d been putting the final touches on his invention—jumped anyway. He dropped a bolt in his excitement and it rolled away, making a triumphant escape under the berth. It took less than a nanoklik to decide he couldn’t be bothered to hunt it down. 

All of the structural stuff was finished, anyway. It'd be fine. 

He scrambled to open the door, and ushered in the vaguely uneasy-looking mech behind it. Unsurprisingly, Perceptor frowned as he noticed the contraption hanging from the ceiling.

“I’m not entirely sure I want to ask,” he said lightly.

“Hey, _you_ wanted a failsafe,” Brainstorm protested. “ _I’m_ just here to have a good time, and enjoy being a gourmet meal. Say the word and we’ll scrap the thing—get straight down to the pièce de résistance.” He kissed his fingers dramatically. 

“That’s me,” he added helpfully, when Perceptor failed to respond. 

Perceptor grimaced slightly, but didn’t comment. Presumably, he was busy conducting an assessment of Brainstorm’s extremely helpful and effective device. He seemed wary.

The rig above the berth did look unnecessarily complicated, Brainstorm had to admit. Maybe a little dubious—in a rickety, ‘might come crashing down on us at any moment’ kind of way. But it wouldn’t! He’d checked all the supporting structures twice. And it was a prototype, cobbled together in couple of cycles. What did Perceptor expect?

“It’ll work,” he insisted aloud. 

Perceptor walked up to the contraption, and eyed the magnetized plate doubtfully. 

“Is this meant to restrain me?” 

“No! Well, okay. Yeah. But only if we _have_ to,” explained Brainstorm. “It’s an ‘in case of emergency’ type deal.” And honestly, he didn’t see them needing it, regardless of what Perceptor seemed to think. 

Brainstorm pulled two bands from his subspace, brandishing them with a flourish. 

“We’ll put these on your wrists,” he explained. “I’ve got some for your tentacles too.” 

He reached out to take Perceptor’s servos, and Perceptor didn’t resist as he slid the first bracelet on, then the other. 

“There’s two settings,” Brainstorm said cheerfully. “Anything hinky goes down and I zap you with the first; it’ll lock up your frame, and it’ll smart, but it won’t cause any _permanent_ damage. Setting two magnetizes the bands, so once the first has loosened your grip, that one’ll yank you up and leave you immobilized.”

Brainstorm had rigged the magnet to the ceiling, but he could raise and lower it as he pleased. Right now, it hung low enough that should Perceptor need to be restrained, his arms and tentacles would be out of commission, but his knees would still reach the berth. Easy access.

“What if you’re unable to access the controls?” inquired Perceptor, though he seemed somewhat mollified.

Brainstorm tapped the side of his helm. 

“It’s all up here. Remote activated, and it’ll go off automatically if I lose consciousness, so don’t worry about that.” 

The plan was more or less foolproof. If Perceptor did get out of control, Brainstorm would be perfectly capable of taking him out of commission. Gently.

...Ish.

Perceptor gazed at the setup for another long moment. 

“Okay,” he said simply.

“Okay?” 

That’d been... surprisingly easy. 

Brainstorm had expected to have to argue his case. He’d prepared a whole speech, covering each and every thing that could possibly go wrong, and precisely why—due to his ingenius countermeasures—it wouldn't. 

A curt nod. Whatever doubts were running through Perceptors mind, they obviously weren't as strong as his appetite. Or maybe he was simply willing to give Brainstorm the benefit of the doubt this time. 

He’d been getting better about that lately. Brainstorm knew that he kinda deserved some of the flack he got, on account of how dangerous his experiments could be. But Perceptor never lambasted his intelligence, only his propensity to cut corners and take unnecessary risks. They’d been working on meeting somewhere in the middle—with Brainstorm taking more thorough precautions, and Perceptor giving more credence to his competence. 

Perceptor stiffened as Brainstorm pulled out the other bands, but he let him reach for the tentacles drifting lazily behind him. He gazed stoically into the distance as they were fitted. 

Despite their segmented edges, the tentacles were smooth and warm to the touch, and they coiled under Brainstorm’s fingers as though they were alive. The bands tightened automatically to fit flush against plating—discreet and secure. 

He was struck by the urge to run his servo along the length of the tentacle he was holding. Brainstorm had never been one to curtail his impulses, so he did. 

Perceptor shuddered, and jerked the appendage from his grasp. 

_Interesting_. 

Brainstorm didn’t push. He took Perceptor’s servo again, and tugged him towards the berth. They settled in with Perceptor kneeling between his legs, and he was struck again by how little _heat_ radiated off of him. 

Perceptor wet his derma, and Brainstorm got a tantalizing glimpse of his new glossa. Still, he looked uncertain, as though unsure how to proceed. Honestly? Brainstorm could relate. This wasn’t exactly a foreign position for them, but the circumstances which had put them here were decidedly new.

As was everything to come. 

Brainstorm’s own spark felt tight, with both anxiety and anticipation. The reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on him. Up until now it’d been all talk—and _talk_ he was good at—but you didn’t just… bare your spark to anyone. 

He wasn’t afraid of Perceptor—far from it—but before this, they’d never even broached the subject of sparkplay. Now, they’d been catapulted into it for necessity’s sake. 

There was also the fact that for the majority of his life, the only bot Brainstorm had ever envisioned touching his spark had been Quark. And for a long time, he hadn’t even entertained the idea of getting that close to another mech again—too wrapped up in reliving—and rewriting—the past. 

Topping it all off was that tiny, annoying sense of inadequacy that liked to nag at him in times like these. 

He shut the voice up by pulling Perceptor into a kiss. That was familiar, at least. Very familiar, and thankfully something back on the table. It felt good to do this again; Perceptor had been tiptoeing around them for too long.

It also helped to ease his nerves. Not that he had anything to be nervous about. He was only exposing the most vulnerable part of himself to someone for the first time ever. Nope, not nerve-wracking at all.

This time, it didn't take long for Perceptor to begin kissing him back with proper enthusiasm. Brainstorm fell further into the berth, sinking against the strategically placed pillows meant to cushion his wings. He slid his arms around Perceptor’s back, and pressed him to follow. 

Perceptor’s servos slid up his thighs in a thorough caress. They didn’t stop there, however, and Brainstorm made a small noise of encouragement as they flirted with the lower edge of his cockpit. 

He was happier yet as the servos resumed their original course, and as Perceptor proved once more that he knew _exactly_ how Brainstorm liked his ailerons traced. The clever fingers generated spirals of heat, which spread out from their originating points to suffuse Brainstorm’s frame. He returned the favor by raking his own fingers across the vents which sat just underneath Perceptor’s chestplate, and relished the groan it earned him.

Already, a heady warmth had settled in; it curled across Brainstorm’s frame with each meticulously directed touch, only to pool deep in his midsection. Static danced across the expanse of his wings, lighting up his sensornet. 

Still, the way that Perceptor’s tentacles hung back—shirking away as though their presence was an obstruction to their enjoyment—was a waste of a good time. 

He broke their kiss, and the appendages shrunk back a little more, which was the _opposite_ of what he wanted. Even less encouraging was the apology already writing itself across Perceptor’s face. 

Brainstorm beat him to the punch. 

“Hey, not to be greedy, Perce, but you’ve got six arms,” he said, with what he hoped was a disarming grin. “I’d be grateful if you used ‘em.”

Perceptor looked so like a petro-rabbit in the headlights that Brainstorm couldn’t resist snapping a pic for later. Then, he cleared his vocalizer meaningfully—pressing his wings into Perceptor’s servos.

“You’re positive?” Perceptor asked. He sounded _extremely_ skeptical. 

Primus, he’d fallen for an infuriating mech. 

“Mhmm,” mumbled Brainstorm, flush against Perceptor’s derma once more. 

He realized offhandedly that his mouth had begun to tingle, and wondered if Perceptor’s oral lubricants weren’t also the teeniest bit acidic. 

Perceptor’s tentacles wound tentatively around his legs, and when Brainstorm hummed approvingly, up to his thighs. He shuddered at the feeling of being wrapped up. The constriction wasn’t particularly strong, but it did limit his motion, and it wasn't a _stretch_ to imagine himself at Perceptor’s tender mercy.

Brainstorm’s mouth fell open in a silent moan, and Perceptor took advantage, coarse glossa uncurling to taste Brainstorm’s cheek cables from the inside. Oh yeah, _definitely_ tingly. 

[You really do like this], wondered Perceptor over comms.

[That's what I've been trying to _tell_ you]. 

His fingers had returned to their exploration of Brainstorm’s cockpit, particularly the area high on his abdomen where metal met reinforced glass. That seam was notoriously sensitive, and Perceptor knew it. 

Brainstorm squirmed as Perceptor continued to stroke at the intersection. The heat had been building long enough that he’d begun to feel _leaky_ down south, and Perceptor hadn’t even touched his panels. It didn’t help that the tentacles were tantalizingly close; Brainstorm knew that with some proper application, he’d be seeing stars in no time.

But… that wasn’t the point of this. And he had a slight hunch that Perceptor was trying to delay the inevitable. They’d gotten more than a little sidetracked.

He broke their kiss again, reluctantly. 

“Not that I don’t appreciate you making up for lost time, but why don’t we get this show on the road?” he suggested. 

The undercurrent of hunger that Brainstorm was quickly learning to recognize sparked again in Perceptor’s field, immediately followed by chagrin. They’d have to work on that. 

Strangely, Perceptor’s reluctance was tempering the worst of his own anxiety. 

“You'll stop me?” rasped Perceptor, and Brainstorm didn't think he'd ever heard his voice so dark—distorted by an unfathomable need that they'd barely scraped the surface of.

“I trust you,” he said simply. 

That, more than anything else, appeared to make up Perceptor’s mind. 

The light caught his optics as he leaned forward, imbuing them with an alien quality which was as beautiful as it was predatory. Another mech might have felt uneasy at the reminder, but Perceptor was gentle as he dragged his derma down the line of Brainstorm’s jaw, and the light graze fell just short of teasing. 

Brainstorm tilted his helm back in invitation; nevermind the fact that he was exposing his throat to someone most mechs would consider a veritable monster. This was Perceptor and... it was kind of hot, actually. 

His plating separated further, fluffing out to vent the heat building under his armor. Meanwhile, Perceptor made his way slowly down, suckling and licking at cables like Brainstorm was a particularly tasty treat that’d fallen onto his plate. He nibbled lightly on a fuel line, and the way it _gave_ beneath the press of sharp fangs set Brainstorm’s fans to roaring. A soft gasp escaped him, which only encouraged Perceptor to pay the line more attention.

Eventually, he moved on, and Brainstorm squirmed as Perceptor licked a long line up his chestplates. Anticipation was making him antsy. Another slow lick—coarse glossa rasping reverently against protective plating—and Brainstorm had to suck in a steadying vent. 

Soft derma grazed his center seam, and then... nothing.

It seemed Perceptor was waiting for him. 

Brainstorm steeled himself, and found the command to open his chestplates. A quick confirmation prompt, and then sparklight was spilling out to highlight the sharp planes of Perceptor’s face. Also highlighted was the expression he was wearing—equal parts hungry and appreciative.

“Now serving spark a la carte,” Brainstorm tried saying with panache. The nervous laughter that followed more or less ruined the effect, but Perceptor smiled anyway, and the sight of it triggered an obvious pulse from his exposed core. 

He realized then that there was no hiding from Perceptor’s piercing gaze, and self-consciousness hit him like a triple-changer. He tried to distract himself by studying Perceptor—Perceptor who’d stopped doing much of anything, and seemed to be waiting for affirmation despite the _want_ broadcasting from him in waves.

“What are you waiting for?” Brainstorm croaked.

“You,” Perceptor murmured, but he seemed to take the question as a signal to proceed. 

Brainstorm watched rapt as he leaned in—a cybermoth drawn to flame. And yet, despite the obvious temptation, Perceptor glanced up briefly—locking optics with Brainstorm as though to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. 

Brainstorm didn’t know what Perceptor had been so scared of. This considerate, careful mech was a far cry from the fiend he’d tried to claim kinship with. 

A small, adventurous part of him wondered whether Perceptor would let him reduce him to a more feral state next time—how he’d react if he were teased and made to wait for his satisfaction. 

Brainstorm had a hunch they might both enjoy it. 

After all, it was clear that Perceptor needed help embracing his monstrous side. And Brainstorm was all too willing to be part of that catharsis. 

He was distracted from his musings by a quivering heat which bloomed without warning. The sensation struck deep, and it took all of his concentration not to cry out. The cause was immediately obvious, as Perceptor’s derma were now close enough to brush against his corona. 

Before Brainstorm could acclimate fully to the sensation—to the molten heat seeping outward to encompass more and more of his frame—the derma were pressing against his core, achingly gentle. 

He’d been ready this time. And yet he hadn’t been ready at all. 

Brainstorm shuddered as the sensation lit up sensors across the board. Static crawled along his plating and to the very tips of his wings, leaving him tingling in the aftermath. When Perceptor lapped experimentally at his prize, a sharp, crystalline pleasure surged, and Brainstorm couldn’t have contained his ragged gasp if he’d wanted to. 

It felt like flying.

The spell was broken almost immediately, as the expression on Perceptor’s face registered. He looked like he’d gotten a mouthful of soured energon. Brainstorm’s wires tightened automatically—his struts going rigid. 

“ _Hey_ ,” he tried to demand, though it came out more akin to a croak. “Why do you look like someone dropped a retro-fly in your sulfide soup?” 

“My apologies,” rasped Perceptor. “It’s simply... an acquired taste.” 

Oh, right. Fast food. 

The reminder soothed some of the instinctive hurt, though Brainstorm still had to will the tension from his frame. He redirected his reproach towards himself. 

_Not everything’s a rejection, you dolt_. 

“Well, suck it up. You get what you asked for, and tonight’s special is 100% made-to-order spark,” he quipped.

Perceptor chuckled, and as he pressed his lips to Brainstorm’s spark once more the vibrations carried into the core, reigniting the pleasure from before. His field was tinged with apology, appreciation, and a familiar, single-minded focus. 

Brainstorm clutched at Perceptor’s helm; his thumbs rubbed soothingly against the sides as he encouraged him to take another taste. Perceptor’s vents ghosted along the edge of Brainstorm’s corona, and the currents caressed like lovers reunited. 

When Perceptor finally licked a long stripe across his spark the _texture_ of it made his circuits fritz. 

“So,” gasped Brainstorm. “S—should I give my compliments to the chef after all?”

Perceptor hummed, low and deep against him. 

“You're warm, and I find that exceedingly pleasant,” he murmured. “Compliments are indeed in order.”

Brainstorm flushed, his wings fluttering with mild embarrassment at the forthright response. Whatever warmth Perceptor was enjoying had probably just increased exponentially. 

Another slow, savoring lick, and Brainstorm found himself curling over Perceptor’s helm—cradling him closer as he tried his best not to whimper. Each brush of the questing glossa left him more sensitive than the last. 

Perceptor did it again—still so very _careful_ —and Brainstorm could almost feel the restraint he was exerting. Underneath all the playful banter and careful attention, Perceptor was a taut wire, a paragon of unnecessary self-control.

“Percy,” he groaned. “I have the failsafe. Stop holding back.”

Perceptor stilled, hesitation warring with whatever his new instincts were shouting at him.

“I can handle it,” Brainstorm added desperately, when the glossa failed to return. 

In a rare show of vulnerability, he abandoned the snark and allowed himself to be a little honest. 

“I want anything you have to give me,” he murmured against the helm in his servos. 

_I don’t care about whatever side it is you’re trying so hard to hide; I’ll love it just as much_.

Perceptor said nothing for a long moment, but then some of the tension in his field eased, and more of the hunger seeped through. It ran so deep that Brainstorm floundered for a moment upon feeling it. 

He realized abruptly that Perceptor’s iron self-control was likely the only thing keeping him from drowning in this icy abyss. It was probably also why he was the only one who’d recovered enough to be allowed to roam without a guard. 

“I’ll stop when you overload,” Perceptor informed him lowly. “That should keep us within acceptable safety parameters, though as I’m leeching energy from your spark and not merely performing oral there may be a larger margin of error. If I dont stop, I expect you to stop me.” 

The matter of fact way in which the lines were delivered ignited another fire in Brainstorm, but he choked out a small affirmative.

The next lick was deeper— _harder_ —and it shook Brainstorm to his core. He hiccupped his pleasure and clutched Perceptor tighter, and now he could _really_ feel how wet he was behind his panels. 

Brainstorm could only hope that Perceptor would be up to dealing with it later. He wanted that winding glossa all _sorts_ of places. For now, though, he was busy trying not to let loose every filthy moan and grateful whimper that welled up inside of him. 

Perceptor was being less careful now—less reticent. He’d lost the polished approach, trading in technique for thoroughness and efficiency. Each rasp of his glossa was an electric current, winding its way through Brainstorm’s frame. 

Primus, this was even better than he could have imagined. 

Brainstorm licked Perceptors scope in retaliation. He wasn’t going to be the only one reduced to a trembling mess by the end of this. Despite his distraction, he managed to mouth absently at the smooth glass, running his glossa along the seams. 

Something in Perceptor shook loose. Brainstorm could almost see the veil as it dropped, and then the full force of that hunger hit him—a voracious need to tap life at its source. It didn’t register in exactly same way, but it still struck him in his core—making him crave something undefinable. 

Perceptor buried his face against Brainstorm’s spark and a guttural noise escaped him—sonorous, and not entirely Cybertronian. Brainstorm was too preoccupied with the renewed assault of his glossa to be concerned, and a litany of praises and ‘please’s escaped him as a deep bliss swept over him—permeating his frame down to what felt like the very molecule. 

Perceptor’s tentacles wound tight around his legs, snaking in-between hip joints as though to keep him from squirming. They were almost so snug as to be painful, but Brainstorm only arched closer, and tried to wrap his legs around Perceptor in return. 

“Don’t worry, Percy. You can keep me,” he breathed. He’d only meant to tease—to poke fun at the iron grip—but nervous laughter betrayed him yet again. 

_Please keep me_.

A low, throaty purr started up against his spark and Brainstorm moaned brokenly. The sensation didn't let up. Instead, it built, and built, and just when he thought that it would tip into overstimulation, it shifted into a gooey, pulsing pleasure. Brainstorm let go of Perceptor's helm and fell wordless against the berth. 

He registered the light prick of fangs as Perceptor mouthed at him, and still had enough presence of mind to keep his metaphorical finger on the ‘halt’ button as his spark lurched with thrill and arousal. But the nibble that followed was almost playful, and the heavy glossa which trailed after it to soothe any sting was even better.

It was enough to fling Brainstorm into an earnest overload. His spark flared with an intensity that was almost painfully euphoric, and caught by surprise, he could only gasp his appreciation. He shuddered as ecstasy rolled through him, and as the light rasp of Perceptor’s glossa guided him down from a seemingly insurmountable high. 

By the end of it he could only shutter his optics, sinking into the berth even before the last of the waves had run their course. 

He was left shivering—wracked by both euphoria and exhaustion in the wake of Perceptor’s feeding and a processor-blowing overload. Still, he didn’t feel... depleted, which was a good sign if they were going to do this again.

They’d _better_ do this again. 

Perceptor had continued to lave at his spark in the aftermath, but now it was beginning to get uncomfortable. The glossa whose praises he’d been singing before was now edging on abrasive, the texture firmly in overstimulation territory. 

He was also recalling Perceptor’s request.

“Percy,” Brainstorm mumbled tiredly, batting at him to get his attention. “I know I’m irresistible, but enough, already.”

In answer, he received a growl. 

Brainstorm sharpened immediately.

He readied himself to use the restraints, but the sound had seemed more possessive than threatening. With another inquisitive ‘Percy?” and a thumb swiped across a sharp cheekbone, Perceptor seemed to come to himself.

He jerked his helm away—embarrassment flooding his field—but Brainstorm yanked him back, and kissed away the apology. 

Perceptor’s fingers tightened on his arm, and when Brainstorm pulled away, the feverish glow of his optics had mellowed to a warm amber. He looked—and felt—more relaxed than Brainstorm had seen since the incident. 

Brainstorm, on the other hand, was growing increasingly aware of how exposed he was, and promptly found the command to close his chestplates again.

“You’re going to leave me a good Yelp review, right?” he joked. 

Perceptor’s look was long-suffering, but fond. 

“Oh, yes. Certainly, five stars,” he said dryly. 

Brainstorm beamed. 

“Don’t forget to tip your server~” 

“...four and a half stars.”

Brainstorm’s mouth fell open in mock outrage, and Perceptor’s tiny smile was everything. 

“Thank you,” Perceptor said simply. “I feel a great deal better.”

“Anytime, Perce. And I mean that—seriously. _Anytime_ ”. Brainstorm looked meaningfully at him. “I think we’ve established that I’m more than happy to be on the menu.” 

Perceptor huffed softly, but didn’t argue. 

“Plus!” he added triumphantly. “I was right! There was absolutely nothing to worry about. Didn’t have to do a thing.” 

A contrary gleam crept into Perceptor’s optic—the one that appeared when he was loathe to be proved wrong. 

“Oh? Maybe I'm still hungry,” he deadpanned. 

Brainstorm suddenly found himself being manhandled by tentacles which hadn’t yet unwound themselves from his frame. His legs were hiked up, even as Perceptor slid lower. 

Oh. 

“You may need to stop me yet.” 

That beautiful glossa lavved against his panel, gathering a small taste of the lubricant which had leaked out during their fun. Brainstorm’s engines stalled. 

_Oh_.

“After all, you’re bound to get tired eventually,” Perceptor remarked. 

Well, that was a challenge if Brainstorm’d ever heard one, and he never backed down from _those_. 

Also, it was absolutely vital that he discover how those segments felt against a mech’s interior mesh. 

For science, of course. 

Perceptor lifted his leg even higher—glossa worming its way into the sensitive gaps of his groin, and stroking the wires there. 

Brainstorm’s helm hit the pillow. 

Yeah, for science.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robots have Yelp, right? Robot Yelp? 
> 
> In other news, I'm in Sweden for a month on an archaeological field school, so I'm afraid that this may be my last update for a while. For those of you reading my other works, I plan to work on June Bug when I get back, alongside some other one-shot projects. 
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
